


Do Me Wrong

by MedusasWrath



Category: Black Lagoon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Casual Sex, F/F, Femslash, Non-Explicit Sex, POV First Person, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 08:21:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15659394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedusasWrath/pseuds/MedusasWrath
Summary: "I love you." The empty hotel room had nothing to say back to me.





	Do Me Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> //Repost// Warning: Femslash
> 
> This fic is pretty rough-I wrote it a while back on ff.net. I don't even use 1st person anymore. Personally, I still think it's worth checking out;3

Dawn? It nearly was, however, my tired eyes seemed to lift on their own, as my body parts from sweat-dampened sheets that pulled memories from the blissful moments hours- no eons ago. The last bits of moonlight illuminated our forms perfectly and in the darkness casting ominous silhouettes on the hotel walls and covertly ensnared the harmonious expression on the normally indifferent woman beside me. Her eyes were closed, a smile on her pert lips(that with the exception of now, always were tainted with wine colored lipstick.) Her firm bosom disappeared behind moth ravaged sheets. Her scarred face not a battle wound standing proud like she usually wore it but more a mark filled with wisdom and age- (and to be quite honest, I found it quite sexy.) Years of training had taught the ex-militant/Mafia boss to be acutely aware. She stirred. While she slept, the precious Sofia roused inside, and I could see it written as plain as day upon her sleeping face. However awake, Balalaika appeared, the scarred Mafia boss, brains of steam engines and lips like spears ready to lead her posse into open fire. Her ice blue eyes peered into mine as her lips parted in a harmonious sigh. Balalaika was not one to tarry. With a slight groan, I watched her rise from covers, perfectly manicured finger weaving through her honey-comb hair. Covers pooled around her waist, she resembled that of a goddess. Love was not a word to be said here in this town of bloodshed. Even so I felt it ghosting on my lips. Balalaika stood up, paying me not so much as a glance as she began the hunt for her clothes. I watched her, lips sealed as the word threatened to boil over.  
.  
.  
.

It had been late of last July. This shipment nearly cost us our lives. Rock's quick thinking had managed to pull us back over the brink of destruction with a little less than a quarter of the prize (twin crates of plastic shielded CDs.) It was late and we were all tired, bones aching, feeling the weight of our loss. Rock had a few broken ribs. I remember Dutch getting by with a broken hand. Benny and I were only mildly concussed. Hotel Moscow had greeted us at the dock, but as usual, I only saw her.

"Dutch…" she greeted us, addressing the muscled dark-skinned of our group.

"Miss Balalaika " He had said with a nod.

She assessed us for what must have been a minute before announcing "Subpar. You'll still get…half of our original pay. Now I suggest you all get some rest."

Two of her men came up with our loot, a crate. It was small, dingy looking. I had risked my life for that thing. At that moment, I had looked into Balalaika's eyes. Her pupils, pinpricks of black in a vast blue ocean had glittered happily and she stared back as if that happiness was only to be seen for me. The next moment, and it was gone, her expression revealing nothing more.

Dutch spoke again "thank you Miss Balalaika, that's very kind of you."

As the rest of my crew started back into the ship, and Hotel Moscow had turned to go, Balalaika spoke.

"Oh, and Two hands, come with me…."

I gave a confused grunt, peering back over my shoulder.

"See you later Revy" Benny had said walking past me.

And I had gotten in her limo, perhaps the quaintest thing I had yet to touch and we did not speak until safe inside her office. Her sergeant and her spoke in rapid Russian. Then, with a wave of her hand, she dismissed him. We were completely alone.

"Revy" she had said- and then kissed me. Not a tentative romantic kiss that you hear about in some shit romance novel but a teeth clashing, hair tugging breathless kiss that leaves you wondering if you'd ever been alive until then ( most certainly I can say I had not.) She had said nothing more after that but her kisses became even more urgent and I understood. I kneeled between her legs. What else could I do?  
.  
.  
.

The next time I saw her was September. Rock had hooked us up with a loot co dealing with the Ripon church. Balalaika had been talking to Sister Yolanda when we arrived. Gathering up her heavy green military coat, she spun it like a cloak around her shoulders.

"Good day to you Sister" and she was gone.

I took Rock to bed that night, both intoxicated with booze. His breath had smelled like rum, I remember thinking as we clashed together in a drunken mess. I found myself pressing against him tightly, desperate to let his smell consume me. I slept with Rock because I was desperate not to remember what Balalaika's face looks like when she comes.

It didn't work, and I leave right after, stumbling into my room.

That night I cried and I found myself struggling to remember the last time I had cried so much. Surely not when I had smothered my father with pillows after he'd tried to rape me-the smell of his blood still on my hands. Yet, that was probably it.

.  
.  
.

Two nights of restless sleep later and I was half dressed stumbling down the dark alleyways to Hotel Moscow's base. Prostitutes and sleazeballs littered the streets, calling me names, taunting me, but I brandished my pistols and they all knew who I was. It was half-past-two when I burst through the doors casting pleading looks at her sergeant, Boris. He led me back to her study, opening the door. She was waiting for me.

These encounters happened more frequently after that. A time in a supply closet, more than once I woke with her hands around me, silently coaxing me out the door of my apartment. I obeyed, always following eagerly behind her. Our encounters were always rushed, rough, and raw. Days of pent up frustration coming out in fervent kisses, our heated skin pressed together, our tired minds desperate for a release of this world. Then she started calling me into hotel rooms. I'd come back to my apartment at 9 AM Benny giving wolf whistles when I'd appear with hickeys and bruises (which was all of the time.) My voice was too scratchy to yell so I'd croak "dipshits." Weeks turned into months and I found myself completing entranced with the Mafia Queen. Love is out of the question, an unspoken taboo in this damnation of a city. I'd better hang myself than attempt to toy with the notion of love. Booze, boys (bitches) and bloodshed were the three rules to live by here in Roanapur.

Balalaika finished dressing, pulling her signature magenta blazer over her shoulders and buttoning it up to complete the look before opening the door "Coming Two Hands?"

I thought back on how she liked to call me 'Revy' or sometimes 'Rebecca' after she'd had a few. 

She turned back, realizing I wasn't dressed. The woman tossed me the keys to our room. "Remember to check out." The door clicked shut behind her.

"I love you." The empty hotel room had nothing to say back to me.


End file.
